


and so you left your mark

by song_of_fate



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Communication Issues, Confident Aziraphale, Established Relationship, Fluff with Porn, Idiots in Love, M/M, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Strength Kink, Temporarily Un-Established Sexual Relationship, arm kink, aziraphale knows what he needs, cannot form words like a normal person, crowley can't talk, crowley is thirsty af, like really, they're just really really into each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 13:17:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20115724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/song_of_fate/pseuds/song_of_fate
Summary: He’d stopped short in the doorway at the first flash of skin, instantly entranced by the deceptive softness of it. The purity of its texture and color. His mind suddenly being overtaken by a strong wondering as to what it would be like to sink his teeth into it, just there, at the pulse. Just hard enough to feel it jump against his tongue.Now he understood what it meant to crave something.orCrowley makes assumptions. Aziraphale tears them right back down.





	and so you left your mark

Skin had never been a thing of consequence to Crowley. Humans ran around naked at the beginning —Hell, _he’d_ ran around naked most of the time, it had been quite liberating— and had kept going back and forth about the morality of it since time began. He’d seen everything done to every type of person in pursuit of lifting the veil, so to speak, when it came to the human form.

Of course, it had been an almost universal truth that people who clung to the idea that covering one's skin would keep them righteous often ended up being the same silly sods who fell fast and hard into the fan-favorite sin of Lust. Funny thing, they hadn’t caught on that it became even more powerful once suppressed.

Crowley moved with the times. Rather considered himself a creature of change and motion. He covered when he needed to if just to ensure the curve of a shoulder or line a leg became even more enticing when presented as forbidden things. Humans did so love forbidden things.

It had certainly made his job easier; letting them get all worked up with nothing more than a wink and the delightful power of their own imaginations. He didn’t even have to bother following through with the game, mindless as the targets were for the _idea _of it all. And when piety fell back out of fashion, Crowley adapted once more.

Though it had always intrigued and confused him that despite these changes in fashion and mindset the one being in the universe that Crowley had been _dying_ to see more of had a ridiculous tendency to keep himself almost completely covered all the time.

Aziraphale. The angel who changed his wardrobe maybe once every few centuries and that was only if it was absolutely impossible to get by (the exception being, apparently, when there were crepes involved) finding a favored style and clinging to it with all the stubborn fervor of a child to their blanket.

It had taken a rather obnoxious amount of cajoling to get the angel as updated as he currently was, and now, it seemed that vintage was _back in fashion_. Crowley wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry when they were periodically stopped on the street by a couple of twenty-somethings begging for a selfie with the strange man in the antique getup.

And because Aziraphale was, well, an Angel, he would agree even if he had absolutely no idea what was going on. Which meant there was now a delightfully baffled angel taking up space on a number of Instagram feeds. He’d even had a hashtag. Crowley didn’t bother telling him what that was.

Honestly, Crowley couldn’t imagine Aziraphale any other way. Prim, old-fashioned, with that stiff-upper-lip he’d adopted almost from day one— long before it was an actual thing that was said— and always comfortably covered in his ancient, well-loved fabrics.

Crowley loved that about him; the solace he took in human pleasures. He did it out of genuine affection for the world. Each creation a wonder, each idea worth treasuring. Memories lovingly collected into the nooks and crannies of his bookshop, living on through him each time he ran his hands over a piece and _remembered_.

Crowley remembered as well. He remembered great empires and wretched kings, revolutions, and peace treaties. Remembered the rise of the pyramids, and the precise invention of the motorcar. Death and rebirth, love and hatred, innovation and destruction. Round and round their little hunk of rock had spun, rising and falling like the tide and through it all Crowley’s only true constant had been Aziraphale.

Their long lives had taken many crossroads and yet they had always managed to end up standing right next to each other, looking out at the world and wondering what could possibly come next. It was that final time when Armageddon had taken a long jump and Adam Young had decided to forge his own path, that they had finally decided it was high time they stopped acting like it wasn’t meant to be.

After their little switcheroo, they’d gone to the Ritz and toasted to the continuation of everything they’d held dear. A silent communication passed between them over their glasses of wine, a shared understanding in their matching smiles. Crowley hadn’t even bothered asking to follow the angel back to his bookshop afterward. Hadn’t protested the warm hands that clasped around his wrists the moment the door closed and could only breathe a sigh of relief holding millennia worth of wanting when Aziraphale had finally, _finally _tilted his face up to kiss him.

One would imagine that had been the end of Crowley’s burning. The incessant itch under his skin that felt as though he had been created with it. A twitch in his fingers, a tightening in his chest whenever the angel was near; the one that told him to touch, and grasp, and protect, and_ love _in every way imaginable.

It had settled, a bit, in the grooves of his ribs when Aziraphale had suggested moving. _A home, our home._ He’d said. _Something we can create together._ Crowley’s heart had threatened to burst out of his chest to take up residence right next to Aziraphale’s in the face of the smile he’d been rewarded for his choked out _Yes._

So it was stupid to want more, right? Downright selfish, even. While Crowley was in favor of selfishness as a general rule, he’d never been able to let himself be so where Aziraphale was concerned. The angel had to be handled with care, lest Crowley scare him off again and he wasn’t entirely sure he’d survive it this time after knowing what it was like to have him.

But Crowley did want. Six thousand years of friendship, with a blissful 368 days of more and Crowley still ached for the angel he slept next to each night; in their new home, in their new bed. Theirs. Together. Each new barrier they crossed only left Crowley with this incessant _need_. He wanted to bury himself into Aziraphale, meld their atoms together and live without a single iota of space between their souls until everything really did end and they started all over again.

In exchange for his reckless devotion, Crowley’s thrice-blessed human body had decided that it could only communicate that desire in the form of wanting Aziraphale in the er, biblical sense.

Now he was just really, _really _pent up and unsure of how to broach the subject with his angel. They didn’t require sex. Just like they didn’t require food and wine and air, but there were times when it certainly felt like they did and this was _definitely_ one of those times.

Crowley had never felt actual, brutal lust before, and couldn’t decide if it was because the feelings were focused on an angel or just because it was Aziraphale. Either way, he hasn’t even caught a good glimpse of Aziraphale’s forearms since Rome and really, that’s — that’s a _shame._

Which found him in his current pathetic predicament while watching Aziraphale tidy up the new library. South Downs had been the last place Crowley figured he would have ended up, but now that they were there, his garden growing in perfect, sufficiently terrified rows and Aziraphale humming in the kitchen, he couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else.

Crowley could watch him now, without needing to ready an excuse in the event that he was caught. Could wrap his arms around the angel’s waist if he so desired, press kisses to the highs of his cheeks and drink in the laughter that poured forth from him so readily these days. It was an indulgence; sweet and lovely and probably bad for him in excess but Crowley didn’t bother to care. He sated the desire often, a stupid smile creeping onto his face more often than he’d like to admit. But there was little for it; he'd been helplessly in love with the bastard quite literally since time began.

The demon watched because at times it was all he could allow himself to do, knowing that any stray breath, any movement in the angel's direction could destroy them forever. Even now, he paused. Old instincts warring against new knowledge that they were fine, they were safe. Nobody bothered with them anymore. 

It still took some self-convincing, even on good days. 

He looked on as Aziraphale fluttered about his new space, stopping to fiddle with the cuffs of his sleeves before rolling them up to give his elbows room to move freely. Crowley’s eyes covetously tracked the lines of his fingers, the curves of his wrists. Sure enough, the angel knew he could miracle the dust or grime away from his sleeves, but Crowley supposed there was something refreshing about the lack of constriction. 

Aziraphale’s human limbs held a lovely plumpness just there in the thick of his arms, but also a strength that was more than angelic in nature. A strength born from carrying large boxes of text into the shop to find them a proper home, insisting on doing it the human way because it was the _work that made it worthwhile_. So they arranged and rearranged entire spaces, furniture and all, to accommodate the organization only Aziraphale and, by extension, Crowley could understand.

Crowley had been attempting to keep busy, though it was rather easy with the new garden to tend to; but as he’d come back inside to check on the library’s progress he’d stopped short in the doorway at the first flash of skin, instantly entranced by the deceptive softness of it. The purity of its texture and color. His mind was suddenly overtaken by a strong wondering as to what it would be like to sink his teeth into it, just there, at the pulse. Just hard enough to feel it jump against his tongue.

Now he understood what it meant to crave something.

There he had remained, staring like a complete daft idiot at the angel while he fussed about. He doesn't realize he’s been caught until Aziraphale is in his space and he blinks himself back from the depths of his fantasies with a hard shake and a slightly forced smirk to make up for it.

“Settling in alright, angel?” He asks, hoping to hide the tremor in his voice caused by the blue burn of Aziraphale’s gaze.

“I am, yes.” Aziraphale answers, tone light. However, his eyes hold an unfamiliar glint and are now wandering over the hollow Crowley’s throat that now feels utterly exposed. “Though I daresay we may have barely met the mark on the shelving. Might have to extend the room a bit to accommodate —”

“Whatever you want.” Crowley interrupted, stupidly, his traitorous mouth running away with him again. Aziraphale’s eyebrows rose just a tick, and Crowley felt the heat that was most certainly not Hellborn creep up the side of his neck. “I-I mean whatever you — need. For the house. I'll, er, we’ll see it’s done. Yeah?”

Aziraphale had curled his arms across his chest, the stretch of muscles under the skin there was distracting and Crowley’s own fingers twitch in response, his mouth going dry. Satan, look at him, undone completely by an angel’s _arms _of all things. It would be humiliating if it wasn’t Aziraphale. To Crowley, that was excuse enough to act like a teenager who finally figured out what his parts were for.

“Whatever I want, you say?” Aziraphale asked, almost musing, a hand lifting to rub his thumb across his mouth in thought. Crowley only just managed to suppress an embarrassing noise, shifting his feet and avoiding looking directly at him. His neck burned. 

“Of course. Yeah. Anything.” Who was he to deny an angel his dream home? If he wanted Crowley to turn the house into an exact replica of the Library of Alexandria, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

The angel hummed and when Crowley found the courage to meet his gaze again he flinched back, surprised at what he saw there. Aziraphale’s eyes had darkened, his thumb catching just barely in the meat of his lip as they roamed over the flush of Crowley’s face and neck, the quick rise and fall of his chest and the clench of his hands. It was all there on display for the angel to do with as he will.

The angel let his stare drop lower, sliding back up Crowley’s body in a slow, deliberate move that had the demon trembling.

“Right then,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley didn’t have the chance to dissect that look or respond before his feet were lifted _off_ the bloody ground and a strangled screech escaped him when the angel slid large, wide hands under his buttocks to hold him up. Oh, fuck, he was _strong_.

“Aziraphale!” He cried like the angel had done something much more erotic than picking him up, throwing his head back so hard he almost felt the sting of it as he hit the wall. His breathing had already changed, coming harsh and quick as arousal replaced his bloodstream entirely.

People didn’t understand, looking at Aziraphale and seeing a soft, kindly bookkeeper, what lie there quietly tucked away. They didn’t know that the angel had led garrisons of soldiers, that he knew very well how to use that sword he so kindly gave away. That beneath those intentional layers of skin lies the strength of the angelic pantheon itself.

A rush of air slid from Crowley’s lips that sounded too much like a whimper for him to deny, he couldn’t focus on anything else but the feel of those arms lifting him easy as breathing. Well, as easy as pretending to breathe anyway.

Crowley’s arms and legs had wrapped themselves around the angel from pure reflex and now every inch of his body was sending shocks of wicked heat through each point of contact between them. It was everything the demon could do to hold on to the last shred of his dignity and not _beg._

“Bold, angel.” He managed, just barely, not to gasp at the flex of fingers holding him up. “It’s unlike you.”

Aziraphale’s expression was smug and dangerous and full of _want_. Crowley was lost.

“You said _anything_, my dear. I intend to hold you to that.”

Oh. Crowley thought. _Oh._

Aziraphale’s gaze was lightning and Crowley’s spine the metal rod that drew him. He vaguely felt his back hit the wall, how could he when the angel’s positively sinful mouth had found itself a new home in the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

Crowley keened. He couldn’t help it, wasn’t entirely sure he would have wanted to when Aziraphale’s fingers tightened on him again. His nerves were on fire, stars he hadn’t remembered since his Fall came bursting behind his eyelids at that simple touch of lips and when Aziraphale opened his mouth to run his teeth along the edge he’d nearly shaken apart right then and there.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice came low and torched. “You should have told me.” He slid one of his hands down the back of Crowley’s thigh, holding him up with just one hand and holy _shit—_

“I-I didn’t think you wanted,” Crowley fought desperately to make his tongue work again. “To, you know, _make the effort_. I thought you were happy as we...were?”

Aziraphale pulled back just enough to look at Crowley head on and it was with a start that the demon realized his glasses had been non-too-gently told to go somewhere else. The angel’s eyes had darkened to a stormy grey, his pupils blown wide, and Crowley realized that he had apparently misread the situation. There was no mistaking _that_.

“I would have been happy standing by your side for eternity.” Aziraphale pressed closer, his breath against Crowley’s lips making him shiver. “Any way you would have wanted it, I would have cherished beyond measure.” He trailed small, biting kisses along Crowley’s jaw and the demon ached with both the need and the tenderness of the gestures. “But I can’t say I haven’t thought about us, well, _this way_ in particular.”

“I...I may have made an incorrect assumption. Or two.”

Aziraphale smiled at him. “Oh, my dear. I’d have to agree.” He said before leaning in to slot their mouths together with a hungry hum.

Heat. The heat was something Crowley had always known. But the inferno that raged in his chest threatened to erupt from his core and consume them both. Aziraphale pulled back to look at him, spit slicked lips hovering over his own, wicked, beautiful fingers kneading into his arse. Waiting for Crowley’s answer to a question he didn’t realize he was being asked. Aziraphale held all the power here and yet he was Crowley’s to command.

Crowley’s lungs were heaving as he slid his fingers into the soft curls at the base of Aziraphale’s head, twisting just enough to make the angel moan low and dangerous into his mouth when Crowley opened for him. He didn’t know when Aziraphale had developed game, didn’t much care to think about where he got the practice in. He was Crowley’s now. Forever. Always. All he wanted to know was what exactly that skill set was going to do to the cock that was currently set to burst through his jeans.

“Show me.” He whispered. “Show me what you thought about.”

Aziraphale’s smile was fatal and full of teeth, but there was such a fondness in the way he brought his hand up to trace Crowley’s cheek, his jaw, the curve of his lips with his thumb. Crowley parted his lips just enough to flick his tongue against the tip, his eyes never leaving the angels. Aziraphale hissed out a ragged breath.

“As you wish, darling.”

Aziraphale lowered him to the ground and Crowley made a noise of complaint as his legs tried to remember how to work again. That is until he found himself pressed harshly against the wall once more, the angel’s mouth against his and his wandering hands doing terrible, wonderful things to Crowley’s chest and hips, yanking his shirt out of his pants to trace the skin just above his belt like it was something precious.

Crowley made a valiant effort to give as good as he got, licking into the angel’s mouth and swallowing up each heated noise that fell from it. Like everything, this came as a game well known. The give and take, the chase and retreat; when Crowley pulled back Aziraphale bit into his bottom lip and lunged in for more. Those goose down locks slid beneath Crowley’s fingers again and the demon found that when he pulled just so, Aziraphale would _growl. _

Those hands, impatient now in a way Aziraphale had never been, tore at his belt and ripped it from around Crowley’s waste to be flung against the wall somewhere and before he could laugh at the absurdity, Aziraphale had sunk to his knees and started mouthing at each newly exposed section of skin as he pulled Crowley’s trousers down with him.

“Ngk.” Crowley brought his fist up, bit down hard enough to leave a mark. “Angel. _Angel. _Oh, my G_—“_

“_Crowley.” _Aziraphale’s voice was a rumble, a cry from the earth itself. “You’re so beautiful, my dear. Perfect.” His breath left searing patches of heat along Crowley’s straining erection, fingers digging into the exposed hip bones harsh enough to leave bruises. Crowley hoped they did. He didn’t want gentle, not this time. This time he wanted to feel it for _days._

“Touch me.” Crowley’s eyes were clouded. “Please.”

“Anything you want.” Aziraphale mimicked his earlier statement, moving his fingers into the rim of Crowley’s boxers and sliding them down without any further preamble. Crowley gasped, his sensitive flesh exposed to the air and a look of utter reverence on Aziraphale’s face.

“Exquisite. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.” The angel murmured, fingers sliding along his cock and gripping him. That first touch and Crowley cried out, but it was his words that sent a flush of pleasure racing down his spine. “I would gladly spend my life showing you just how much I adore you, body and soul.”

“_Fuck._” Crowley felt his fingers moving of their own accord, burying themselves in Aziraphale’s hair. Not pulling, just holding on. Needing to find something to ground him before his soul abandoned his body and right now that was the very last thing Crowley wanted was for any of this to stop. “Angel!”

Aziraphale licked a long, slow stroke from root to tip, sighing like Crowley was the finest of delicacies. He laved upon the head, opened so he could take the entirety of it into his mouth and slid down to the root. He buried his nose in the fine hairs there at the base and Crowley stopped breathing altogether.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley whined, long and low in his throat scrambling for some kind of leverage,

The angel hummed again around him and Crowley was honestly going to blackout any fucking second now. “Mmm.” He pulled off, nuzzling into the place where thigh met hip and breathing deep as though to savor the scent, all while looking up at Crowley with glittering blue eyes. “I quite like the sound of my name when you say it like that.”

“You’re going to kill me.” Crowley’s voice finally recalled its purpose but it didn’t sound like his own; he sounded destroyed. “Who are you and what have you done with my angel? You were complaining about curtain patterns not three hours ago I can’t believe —_ngh— _this is what we could have been doing instead.”

Aziraphale’s grin turned wicked, and was he always like this? How did Crowley miss it?

“Then it is rather fortuitous that we have so much time to make up for it.”

Crowley was ascending again, arms shooting back to brace himself against the wall as Aziraphale lifted him, Crowley’s knees coming to rest on his shoulders while the angel dived below to take him in his mouth.

The feeling of being handled as though he weighed nothing coupled with the magnificent, blistering heat of the angel’s mouth about had his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Oh, Crowley _loved _him. This wild, surprising supernova of a creature that held him like he was something beautiful, something worth treasuring.

If the sight of the angel on his knees before him wasn’t enough to send him careening into oblivion, then the noises he made as he did so sent Crowley sprinting there headfirst with a smile. Magma replaced his blood, pooling into his center and peaking him higher until he was damn near sobbing into his hand.

“Ang—Aziraphale I’m—I—“

Crowley’s warning was met only with Aziraphale bearing down in earnest. He pulled off Crowley’s cock with an obscene sound before venturing lower, tilting Crowley’s hips up just so to bury his face in the cleft of him and licking _in. _His hand braced on Crowley’s lower spine like he was holding up an empty dish plate; not an ounce of effort needed. Crowley probably, at some point, really needed to think about what made that so ridiculously attractive but right now someone was screaming and—

He came with a cry that shook the foundation of the cottage, the books hovering precariously in their perches, dishes threatening to fall from their shelves. Crowley felt his wings, hidden away in an entirely different dimension quiver and fling themselves open in abandon. Aziraphale’s eyes closed in rapture, swallowing down the evidence of their lovemaking until Crowley was sure his brain had gone out with it.

His knees gave out with nothing more than shudder and a sturdy arm around his waist was the only reason he didn’t crumple to the floor in a sated heap. Aziraphale grinned at him, licking a stray droplet from the corner of his mouth. Mischief looked gorgeous on him.

“My dear, really. What will the neighbors think?”

Crowley blinked at him about fifteen times before he was able to form a cohesive thought. “Probably that someone is getting well and rightly buggered?”

“Oh, honestly.” Aziraphale chuckled, nosing in again to place small kisses behind Crowley’s ear. Crowley tilted his head with a sigh, his body buzzing. He lifted his arms to drape limply over Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Can you move, dearest? I didn’t hurt you?”

Crowley tsked. “As soon as I _am_ able to move you are going to get _exactly_ what’s coming to you, angel. Where in the seven realms of Hell were you even hiding that particular inclination?”

“Hiding it?” The angel asked, incredulous. “What on earth made you think I was hiding anything? I had rather thought I’d made it obvious!”

“But, you—You never said anything!” Crowley stammered,

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Since when have we had to spell everything out to the letter? We’ve kissed plenty of times by now, I had thought you would have sensed it. I just thought you didn’t want to.”

It was Crowley’s turn to stare. Didn’t want to? Was he serious? Was this a real thing that his lifemate was saying to him right now?

“Of course I’ve wanted to you, idiot! I’ve only been ass over feet for you for six thousand blasted years! That tends to include a bit of physicality here and there wouldn’t you think?!”

“You know as well as I do we don’t need—“

“Just putting it out there now. I do. I need. Keep doing this, please. I am giving you permission to do exactly what you just did whenever you feel like it.”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale tried for a sigh but what escaped him were a series of giggles that he hid in Crowley’s collarbone and fueled the happiness that unfurled in the demon’s own breast. “I do believe we should stop making a habit of not talking to each other about our, er — desires.”

Crowley, half-naked, spent, and holding the reason for that in his arms, flushed in embarrassment. “Yeah...Yeah, that would probably...help.”

“Good.” Aziraphale kissed his face once more. “Now that we’re being honest. What was it that set you off?”

Crowley groaned. “Right to the heart of it, angel. I’m rubbing off on you.”

“Well, no. But that can always be arranged.” The angel tilted his head thoughtfully, that glint in his eyes once more.

“Oh, my G—Sa—_Stars_! Where did you even come from?” Crowley felt his own laughter bubbling up out of him, couldn’t recall when he ever felt this happy. “It was your arms, okay?”

Aziraphale’s brows furrowed. “My...arms?”

Crowley swallowed another noise. It all sounded so much more idiotic outside his head. “I mean not your arms—exactly—I mean, _yes,_ I want to bite them, but also you are just—so, so much stronger than you look and—ngkkk.” He gripped the angel’s forearms, lifting a wrist to his mouth to graze his teeth against the heartbeat like he’d imagined. “I’d really, really like for you to pick me up again.”

Understanding flashed across the depths of the angel’s eyes. “_Oh._ Oh, I see.” He said. The slow tilt of his mouth in response left Crowley no other choice but to sink his teeth into that plump bottom lip. “Well.” His hands slid back down Crowley’s hips, teasing over the curve of his arse again before coaxing Crowley to wrap his legs around him again. “I do believe you said something about me ‘getting what’s coming’?”

Crowley, for all his talk, hadn’t been sure if he was going to be able to move again let alone try for another round but an electric thrill ran from the soles of his feet to the tips of his wings and he leaned in to trace the line of Aziraphale’s jaw with his tongue. “Get me up those stairs, and we’ll talk.”

Aziraphale shifted to cradle Crowley in one arm, the other tangling in his hair to bring his face down to meet him in another scorching kiss full of promise and — oh, there, there was the want Aziraphale had been talking about— already walking towards the base of the stairs that would lead to their bedroom.

“My love, you only had to ask.”

They didn’t quite make it to their room, but the bed had decided rather suddenly that it would much prefer to be at the top of the staircase. 

Aziraphale and Crowley were glad to remember, much later, that they, in fact, did not actually have neighbors. 


End file.
